


Captains of this Ship

by orphan_account



Series: Captains of this Ship [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2439020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>It hits him then, that they've never, actually been on a date. Per se. They've seldom done typical 'couple things'. Akashi can be such a lump of ice at times that it hardly feels like they have anything more than a simple senpai-kōhai relationship. Nijimura tries to change that.</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Captains of this Ship

**Author's Note:**

> This has become a series, somehow.
> 
> These days, I write whatever latches onto my brain for more than a few days. This idea appealed to me so I wrote it, and finished it sooner than expected. I tried to add a bit of seriousness to it, but it still ended up being this marshmallow-y thing. Also, the title doesn't make sense, but I'm quite attached to it. I'm sorry. Well, I hope you enjoy it =)

Shūzō's sitting in the train from work one Monday evening, minding his own business—thinking about whether he should pick up one of those terrible convenience-store bentos, because there's almost nothing in his refrigerator—when he notices a teenage couple holding hands, and acting all 'in love' like their lives depend on it.

_Kids,_ he scoffs. Really, he's probably just a little jealous of these ignorant brats that hold hands so openly and make annoying, kissy faces at each other. He averts his gaze, trying not to think about how he might just be missing Akashi. He hasn't seen the redhead in over a month. Ever since his kōhai entered university, Akashi's been more scarce than usual.

Shūzō can appreciate that the redhead chose to study in Japan—Akashi Snr. insisted on having his heir close, to 'ease' him into the role he will, one day, take up. Akashi's closer than he would've have been if he'd chosen to study in, say, America. Or England. But he's still kinda far.

_Maybe I should schedule an appointment,_ Shūzō ponders on his way from the station. Maybe take him somewhere nice. Like on a date. It hits him then, that they've never, _actually_ been on a date. Per se. They used to hang out, play basketball on run-down street courts, and sometimes, they'd grab something to eat some place cheap. That last bit had surprised Shūzō at first, because he'd always thought that Akashi was a rigidly stuck-up rich kid, that could only eat at top-notch restaurants where they served things like onion soup and escargot.

Then, when they'd started dating, they'd just hung out at his apartment, watched TV, studied, and fooled around. But they've seldom done typical 'couple things'. Akashi can be such a lump of ice at times that it hardly feels like they have anything more than a simple senpai-kōhai relationship; with sex thrown in.

_Why am I thinking about all this?_

He stops at a convenience store on the way home, and forgoes the bentos in favour of packets of instant ramen, eggs, and some vegetables. Maybe he'll make something wholesome tomorrow. He also makes plans to call Akashi.

#

He does call the next morning, after a brief staring contest with his mobile. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he listens to Akashi chatter on about his new school, and his new friends, and old friends (Midorima), and work. Shūzō thinks it's nice that Akashi's doing well. He almost smiles, but doesn't quite.

“Oh,” Akashi suddenly says, interrupting himself. “I'm being insensitive. You wanted to say something?”

_I miss you. Come visit. Don't forget about me,_ he doesn't say because, god, that sounds so lame. And desperate. And when did he become so... so clingy?

“Nothing really,” he lies. “Just wanted to say hi. So, hey.”

There's a heavy pause, and Shūzō knows—somehow—that it isn't the response the redhead had been waiting for. So he does what any self-respecting guy would do in such a situation: he bails.

“Glad to hear you're doing well,” he mumbles, rushing over his words like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be. “I've gotta run. You know, classes, work. Laundry. Don't be a stranger.”

They say their goodbyes and hang up. He throws himself on the unmade bed, stomach grumbling its hunger, berating himself for his idiocy. What sort of boyfriend can't ask his boyfriend out on a date?

While chewing his way through a terribly made omelette, he considers asking for help.

#

“Things that Sei-chan likes? Shouldn't you know these things already?”

“Stop being such a pain,” Nijimura sighs, already regretting his course of action. Of all the people he could ask for help, Mibuchi had been first on his list for some or other reason. So after a long period of stalling, procrastinating, and just flat-out refusing, Nijimura had gathered up his pride and asked the artsy noodle out for coffee.

“But, Nijimura-san,” Mibuchi continues, clearly enjoying the entire ordeal. “Why are asking me? Surely you could just ask Sei-chan yourself.”

“What part of **surprise** do you not understand?”

Mibuchi chuckles like he knows something that Shūzō doesn't. Which he probably does, and that infuriates Nijimura like little else in the world.

He's been dating Akashi for over a year, yet he still knows so little about his boyfriend. _Boyfriend,_ he snickers to himself. The redhead is as mum about his life as he is competent at displaying affection—useless, in other words. And it isn't as though Akashi's more open with others. Mibuchi, the guy that he's come to build some strange sort of friendship with, is just better at observing Akashi than Shūzō is. So it had seemed a logical choice at the time. But now that he's here, seated across from Mibuchi, he kinda regrets it.

Mibuchi sighs, as though defeated, yet thoroughly amused, tapping his fingers against the wooden table thoughtfully. “Sei-chan is accustomed to expensive things. But what he _really_ likes is authenticity; genuine things. It's even better if they're one-of-a-kind things. Regardless of how much they cost.”

“Okay.”

“I was wrong about you, Nijimura-san. You're actually a nice guy.”

“Don't give such half-assed compliments with a smile. I'll kick your ass.”

Mibuchi laughs heartily. Thereafter, they finish their coffees in silence. Shūzō pays, because he'd invited the other. Already this date he was planning was costing him, and he was no closer to figuring out what to do.

On the way to work, he receives a text from Akashi that makes him grin like a dumb teenager. It read:

> _My schedule has been freed up for the next month. Care to house me next weekend?_

The request is entirely too formal—so, terribly Akashi—but it makes him want to laugh the kind of laugh that he used to tease his love-struck friends with. Shūzō forces a scowl and replies with a simple 'sure thing'. 

After a moment of staring at the screen he adds a smiley face, and shoves the phone into his pocket. The rest of the day goes surprisingly well.

#

After work on Friday evening, Shūzō goes out with some of his colleagues. They go to a Chinese restaurant in the heart of an almost-mall, and proceed to bitch about their too-strict boss, and his obviously-the-mistress secretary. He orders fried rice, and his companions order apple juice for him as a joke—seeing as he's a month shy of being legal (20). They have some good laughs, his fried rice is on the dry side, and someone gets drunk after two beers. But it's fun.

A girl he barely recognises moves to sit beside him some time later. She's cute enough, and blushes in a way that suggests that she has an agenda. She even laughs at things he says that aren't meant to be funny; people look at him expectantly. Nijimura concludes that she'd be kind of easy—relationally, that is—but also seems to be a bit dull. Akashi's better company, though being with him is anything but simple.

Afterwards, he excuses himself and heads home. It's late, so he makes certain to be alert even though the neighbourhood is pretty safe.

Shūzō briefly thinks about the options he's dwindled his list down to. He has one week left to organise everything, and he's nervous for some reason. It's not as though his entire relationship rides on this one date. If it's a flop, it's not a big deal, he rationalises. Even so, his stomach does these disgusting little flips when he considers which option Akashi would like more—Ebisu or Kichijoji? It's annoying.

He sleeps fitfully that night, and wakes up grumpy.

His mood is further aggravated when he runs into Aomine and an unstylishly disguised Kise at a mall while shopping for a new T-shirt, and maybe a more distinguished cologne. One that doesn't make him smell like a testosterone-pumped brat trying to attract attention. One that compliments Akashi's super pricey, imported, probably-specially-made cologne.

“Senpai!” Kise yells from the men's underwear section, pretty much breaking his own cover when he removes the ugly scarf that's been hiding his hair.

_Why,_ Shūzō questions silently, as his kōhai make their way towards him. The idea of turning around and making a break for it flutters through his mind, but he's too slow to move, and Aomine's hand is already on his shoulder like they're old buddies.

“Yo,” the kid says, a smirk firmly planted on his face. “It's been a while, Nijimura.”

Shūzō shoots him a glare over the lack of a honorific—any honorific. _Brat,_ he thinks, and shrugs off the unwanted contact. “Learn some manners, kid.”

“Ah,” Kise interjects excitedly, eyeing the bundle of clothes in Shūzō's arms. “Special occasion?”

“No. Not that it's any of your business, though.”

“That's mean, Nijimura-senpai.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns around slowly, trying to convey the fact that this conversation is over. “People tell me that all the time.”

“Is that Akashi's kink, then? Your mean streak.” Aomine drawls out lazily. Shūzō flinches, but only slightly, because he really doesn't want to get into it with his kōhai, over his boyfriend—who's also his kōhai. God, when did his life become such a drama.

“Aominecchi, don't tease senpai. Momocchi won't be pleased.”

“Shut up. Satsuki's got nothing to do with this.”

“But you always get depressed when you guys fight. And I always have to listen to your moping.”

“I said shut up, Kise. Dammit.”

“I'm leaving now. You idiots, don't follow me.”

He makes a point of turning to leave the two of them; people are watching—most of the audience is comprised of adolescent girls that were drawn to the spot by Kise's presence—and he really doesn't want to end plastered across the internet, with angry fan-girls spewing all kinds of shit about their take on this situation.

“Oh, senpai,” Kise rushes after him, “pick the black one. I'm certain Akashicchi will approve.” The blonde winks and rushes off happily.

Nijimura walks around the store for a few minutes, but finds nothing else he likes. After picking up his cologne, he heads to the cashiers with the black golf t-shirt clutched in his hand. He convinces himself that it had been his favourite pick even before Kise's comment.

#

“You're hopeless, nii-chan,” his brother's voice comes through the laptop speakers.

Nijimura's busy gathering the papers scattered across his bed, while trying to hold a conversation with his brother on Skype. “Shut up.”

“Whatever. Fact is, you still don't have a plan. Are you so unpopular that you don't know how to plan a date. It's so sad.”

He knew it had been a bad idea telling his brother about any of this—the kid simply could not be trusted with delicate issues. For instance, during the winter, his siblings had come to visit (mom and dad had stayed in the States because of a minor relapse in dad's health). Akashi had made himself rather scarce during that time, a courteous move that had earned him more brownie points than strictly necessary. Even so, on one of the very few occasions when Akashi was around, Shūzō's brother had concluded that something was up, and had asked the redhead, rather unabashedly, if they were going out.

Akashi's eyes had gone really wide and his mouth had frozen up in a plastic smile. He'd turned to Shūzō, who'd had a rather wonderful time burning the memory of the younger boy's shocked expression into his memory. Shūzō had then shrugged and mumbled something to his brother, making him promise not to blurt the news to their parents.

A promise the teen hadn't been able to keep—not that Shūzō was surprised. As things stood now, only his mother knew that he had a boyfriend. And she had avoided bringing it up, probably hoping that it was just a phase that would pass without causing too much hassle. Who knew? His brother, on the other hand, had become so fascinated with the entire thing that he's decided to meddle in Shūzō's affairs.

“If you have nothing better to talk to me about, I'm gonna log off. 'Cause I actually have work to do.”

“Don't be rude, nii-chan. Akashi-san has great manners, hasn't dating him taught you anything?”

“Logging off now,” Shūzō responds, lifting his finger in slow motion.

“Ah! Don't be like this. I can **help** you.”

“Since when have I ever needed your help with my relationships?”

“That's because you haven't had a proper relationship until now. And Akashi-san... well, you've done a lot worse in the past. He's nice enough, I like him.”

“Bye-bye, otouto!”

He closes his laptop and sighs, both in exasperation, and exhaustion. Akashi will arrive two days from now and he's no closer to having things figured out. The way things are, he'll probably just end up winging it, or bailing completely.

#

Nijimura is not ashamed to admit to himself that he's missed Akashi, especially considering that it seems the redhead has missed him too (though they would probably deny it if asked.). They're seated, once again, on his battered couch eating expensive Thai takeaways that Akashi brought with him. It's become something of a tradition—a ritual—for Akashi to bring some kind of culinary offering whenever he shows up. It's nice. Also, Akashi has great taste (most of the time), so at least, once in a while, Shūzō can eat like a boss.

He figures that the food would've tasted even better if they'd eaten it while it was still warm from the store, instead of having to reheat it in the microwave. Because Shūzō had pretty much jumped the redhead the minute he had crossed the genkan, and dragged him to the bedroom. And Akashi had let him, which was enough to warm his insides for days to come.

“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” Shūzō asks between bites of crispy vegetables. Akashi glares at him, but it's sting is dampened by the distant, sated look to the other's gaze.

“Not particularly.”

“Good.” He throws out a smile that he hopes looks sly. “I'm taking you out.”

“Where to?”

_Good question,_ he thinks, slurping up his noodles, because he knows that Akashi can't stand the noise it makes. Like clockwork, the redhead sighs in exasperation, opens his mouth to lecture his boyfriend about proper table etiquette—even though Shūzō doesn't own a dining table. But, before Akashi can get a word out, Shūzō leans in and plants a slightly greasy, sweet chilli kiss on the corner of the other's lips. The move is spontaneous, takes them both by surprise, because while Akashi is the king of relational dysfunction, Shūzō really isn't that great at them either. And that little peck—like something straight out of a shōjo manga—is something very new.

“I know. I know. Manners...” Nijimura stares down at his bowl after a moment of kicking himself for doing something so unplanned. He's perplexed by how two, relatively mature guys can be so, utterly clueless.

“Indeed.”

Shūzō turns from his bowl just in time to catch an echo of Akashi's smile.

#

They leave his apartment later than he'd planned, because Akashi wouldn't wake up. He's always like that on the weekends—lazy, and spoilt. Like a cat. They rush to the station, but end up missing the train, anyway. While waiting for the next train, Akashi compliments him on his attire, noting that the black golf-shirt looks good on him. Nijimura tries not to preen, and nearly succeeds. Akashi also stands a little closer than usual, though he doesn't seem to notice. But Nijimura notices. He always notices these things. Especially when the scent of the redhead's shampoo wafts under his nose, making him want to bury his hands in that lush hair, pull Akashi close, and...

When the train finally arrives, Shūzō grabs Akashi's hand and forces a path into the closest carriage. He doesn't let go of the other's hand, convincing himself that Akashi's small enough to get crushed by, or lost in, the crowd—highly unlikely, but one can never be too cautious—and he doesn't want to waste time searching for a lost kōhai. If he happens to like the way Akashi's hand fits in his, the way the redhead clasps his hand as tightly as he's holding Akashi's, it's really just an added bonus.

Truthfully, Nijimura doesn't have anything planned, but he knows that there's a small festival going on in Kichijoji, and there's stuff they can do that won't blow his month's budget. It isn't that he doesn't take this date seriously—if anything, he's taken it way too seriously thus far—it's only that he doesn't know what to offer someone like Akashi. So he leads the way, not entirely sure of where he's going, not particularly caring. That is until Akashi pulls on his hand—he notes that they're still holding hands; have been since they got onto the train. Shūzō tries not to blush. And fails, quite spectacularly.

“Where are we going?” Akashi asks. A sensible question, Nijimura surmises. But it's also one he can't answer truthfully without seeming wholly unprepared, and cheap. So he shrugs, and subtly unlaces his fingers from the other's.

“On a date, of course.”

Akashi blinks. Surprised is a really good look on him, Shūzō decides, while fighting against the grin that threatens to ruin his cool-and-collected façade. “A date?”

“Yep. Now let's go, or you'll miss all the fun.”

#

The day is a roller-coaster ride of trial and error. Like river rafting in Grade 2 white water—slightly rough, with a few obstacle that need to be manoeuvred around. They discover, or rather, they're reminded of, how very unlike they are. Their tastes in music, fashion, even people could not be more different. It's almost disheartening.

Through it, though, Nijimura discovers that Akashi's far more accommodating than he appears. The redhead is willing to try almost everything that Shūzō suggests, except the tattoo parlour they walk past while heading to Inokashira park. Akashi scrunches up his face, horrified at the notion, and Shūzō laughs.

They stop at an outdoor theatre that's going on in the park. Akashi is enamoured by the drama students—they _look_ like drama students—on their cheap, make-shift stage, and their overdone make-up. He smiles, soft and a little distant, before motioning to Shūzō that they can move on. He's tempted to ask the redhead what's on his mind, but doesn't, because he doesn't want to ruin the moment. Because they're having a moment, dammit.

They rent bicycles to tour the park with, but end up getting lost. Akashi sighs in blatant annoyance, and the moment is gone. Because it would be banal, they don't argue. Instead, Nijimura follows Akashi around until they find the lake/river/stream thing that leads them back to familiar territory. He apologizes, and Akashi is rather forgiving.

It's beginning to get dark, when they stumble into a tiny, bohemian café that has a wine-bottle chandelier as its epicentre. The lighting is dim inside, and the place smells heavily of incense. The tables and chairs are mismatched, in a way that many interior designers would consider eclectic. Definitely not Akashi's style, but the redhead doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything but stare around the place; fascinated.

A waiter takes their order with a knowing smile on her chubby, little face. Why does he always end up with fujoshi as waitresses?

“So,” Nijimura starts a little nervously, “your thoughts?”

“On what?”

“Our first date. I know it isn't anywhere near as fancy as what you're used to, but--”

“I've never been a date. Well, not one that I consented to, anyway.”

_You've been forced on dates,_ is the only thing Nijimura's brain gets from that statement. Some time later his brain processes the fact that this is, in fact, Akashi's first date. And he feels as though he should have tried harder.

“But I liked it,” the redhead continues, sipping tea out of an antique porcelain cup—the overall look is highly distinguished. “Very much so.”

“I'm glad.”

They sit in comfortable silence until the food arrives. “This place reminds me of my mother,” Akashi announces halfway through their meal. “She was a very dignified woman, but she always liked places like these. As such, she never quite fit into father's world. I think that's what he liked most about her.”

Shūzō's not sure how to respond, not sure if he _should_ respond, because that is probably the most that he's heard Akashi say about his family. So he shuts his mouth and listens to Akashi speak, sporadically, about his mother, a little about his father, and a little about himself as a child. Nijimura drinks it all in, because he doesn't know when next such a miracle will happen. He's gone so soft, it's embarrassing.

Akashi asks for the bill after the waitress has cleaned up their table.

“No dessert? You're no fun.”

“I wish to go home.”

“Already? But Sei, there's a street concert happening somewhere nearby in a little while. It's going to be--”

“I want to go home, Shūzō. There will be dessert at home.”

Nijimura's slow on the uptake, crinkling his face as he makes a mental checklist of the contents of his refrigerator. Definitely no dessert. Then, he gets. At least he thinks that he gets it; Akashi had said it with such a solemn that the redhead might just be planning to buy something sweet on the way home. And not what Shūzō thinks (hopes) Akashi means. “Oh. Well, okay then.”

He pays and they rush to the train station. The ride back seems to take longer.

#

Nijimura wakes up later than usual the next day, without any desire but to go right back to sleep. But Akashi, and his cold toes won't let him. Shūzō grumbles something incoherent. Protest or profanity, he can't be sure. He's about turn over and go back to sleep, when Akashi tugs the covers away from him with much effort, and pokes him in the ribs with a cold finger—ah, he's shirtless.

“You can't sleep all day, Shūzō. It's unseemly.”

“No one will ever know. Go away, kid.”

Another jab to the ribs, less gentle. “Wake up. I've made breakfast.”

Nijimura blinks, wondering if he heard correctly, and turns to face Akashi whose face is as unreadable as always. Akashi's wearing the hoodie Shūzō borrowed to him that day they got caught in the rain—he has since claimed it as his own.

“You did what?”

“It's isn't anything grand, just an omelette. And it's getting cold.” The redhead rolls off the bed with ease and grace, while Shūzō, himself, staggers out like he's had a rough night—which he did, but in a different, more pleasant manner. He can't help but grin thinking about it.

“Stop that,” Akashi commands. “I know what you're thinking.”

“Whatever.” Settling down, he eyes the plate the redhead places in front of him. It looks decent enough, nothing spectacular. “Hey, I didn't know you could cook.”

“I couldn't. But I've been taking lessons from our chef, when I can.”

“Why?” He digs in. It's a little rubbery, and a bit too salty, but there are no stray eggshells, so he doesn't complain. Also, it's nice to be reminded that Akashi isn't perfect at absolutely everything, every once in a while.

“I can't expect you to cook every time I visit. And, when we move in together, would you cook every meal, every day? That wouldn't be fair.”

Shūzō's chewing stutters at the mention of moving in together, causing food particles to travel down his windpipe. He's never thought that far. Never allowed himself to think that far. That far was wishful thinking, and the stuff of shooting stars and birthday candles. But, here Akashi was, straight-faced and honest, speaking of it like it's a certainty. Something they will do some time in the future. He'll have to talk his mom about all of this soon, he realises, coughing as though he's about to hack up a lung. Because this isn't just a phase, for either of them.

“Is my cooking that bad?”

“What? No! I—“ cough, gasp, swallow “—I just wasn't paying attention. It's not bad. Still needs work, though. Do your best, okay.”

He had meant to tease Akashi with that last bit, but the fingers that he runs through red locks diminish that intent, and turn it into something different. Something intimate.

Definitely not a phase, he concludes, chewing his way through his food. There isn't a morsel left after he's done. After washing and drying the dishes—the amount of dirty dishes doesn't correlate to the simplicity of their breakfast—they laze about on the couch talking about their lives. Later, they migrate to the bed (its bigger, and more comfortable), and talk about their future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Almost forgot: Thanks to _everyone_ for all the kudos, and comments, and everything on previous works. They really _do_ make the dry/mediocre days pass by easier  <3 Much love.


End file.
